Madness is Red
by ShonenAiSorcerer
Summary: Madness is strikingly like blood. Aya's in an asylum, and his new roommate is just a bit surprised.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The Weiss boys and their series are not mine, and if I made money from this, I wouldn't have to moonlight as a starving artist.

Notes: Another of those twenty-minute fics that keep interrupting my longer WK stuff. This is AU (I guess), sometime after the original series (I'm in permanent denial of Gluhen). It might be shounen ai if it gets continued.

* * *

Madness is Red

* * *

White. White walls. White ceilings. White linen on the white mattresses on the white beds. White trays to sit on the white tables beside white paper napkins and white plastic spoons. White socks on his feet that walked on white tiles between two pairs of white tennis shoes. White jacket with white sleeves and white straps that laced in the back.

He liked his other jacket better.

"Here," the man on his right indicated a door—white.

"Might want to be careful with your room mate," the other said with a flash of white teeth. "He likes to play."

"Play?" His own voice sounded too soft.

A shared laugh between the men.

"Yeah, real playful. The first day he was here, he gave this guy here a black eye and broke two of my ribs, then he did some kung-fu bullshit and knocked out two orderlies."

"Right before he broke the doctor's nose."

"Yeah. I know you're supposed to be hot shit, but this guy…he was standing there, over two unconscious orderlies, watching blood pour down Dr. Yamura's coat and laughing. And he—"

An orderly passed behind them.

"Let's get him in here."

"Alright."

The locked clicked open under the key, and the jacket was loosened. The door slid open, revealing only half the room, another bed, empty and clean and white.

Then he tumbled inside as the jacket was ripped from around him and came face to face with all the color he needed: deep purple and scarlet red.

The door locked behind him.

"Abyssinian." It was an exhalation of breath, but he caught it before it could be more, turning it to a low laugh as he plopped down on the stupid white bed. Directly across from him, the other man slid to the edge of the bed to mirror his position. He was dressed strangely, even for this place, in skin tight red leather pants that rode low on his hips to reveal a slim inch of pale abdomen before it disappeared under the edge of his tight black tank top. He was barefoot.

"They let you wear that?" he asked, suddenly jealous and even more frustrated by his own damnedly white sweat suit. Standard issue that made him long for prison orange.

"I do what I want here," the other replied in that low, calm voice. But there was a little smile on his face and a wild glint in his eyes.

"I see."

They waited in silence, staring each other down in silent challenge; then Aya burst out laughing.

It chilled him to the bone, but the sudden return of feeling thrilled him. He thought his insides had been going white.

When Aya's laughter had gone (as suddenly as it had come), leaving him once more serious, he had ask, "What's funny?"

There was no hesitation.

"That they gave me you," he smiled, a little too wide. Slipping off the bed, he knelt by the others feet, laying his head in the man's lap and looking up with wide, excited eyed. He reached up a thin, pale hand to gently brush back his disheveled bangs. "I've been complaining, you know."

He nodded, though he didn't.

"It's too clean here, too sterile, too white. It was driving me mad—well, more mad, you know. It's all relative."

Another nod with no less confusion.

"I got a little red. They were surprised. What the hell did they expect?" he was derisive now, a little angry as he curled his pretty lip into a snarl, "Here's Kritiker's best assassin, let's put him in a room with a lock, that'll stop him. Fucking idiots."

"The doctor," he finally offered.

Aya shrugged, "I guess so. I really wanted to gut him, but they took my spoon."

"Okay."

There was some pain on Aya's face then, apparently a result of his tone; it had been reflex, the same pedantic child-talk inflection the men used with him.

"I didn't mean it that way."

"I deserve it."

"No. You don't."

"I hate it here."

"Yes. How'd they get you?" He had to know how this one was broken.

A sardonic smile as he lifted his arm at an awkward angle without raising his head from the other's knees. A long, red scar ran diagonally from wrist to elbow, healed, but just barely.

"I miscalculated."

"Cut too deep?" he asked.

"Not deep enough."

"Do you regret it?"

A moment of thought, "Yes. But sometimes, here…I want to do it again."

"For color?"

A bright smile, with teeth. It was strange and wonderful on that face, though his reflexes said 'run' when they saw it.

"Yes, yes," he nodded, dragging his head off the knees and sitting cross-legged on the floor instead, still smiling up at his new roommate. "But now! Now I don't have to!"

"Why?"

"Because they sent me you, and you're red too."

He reached up, taking hold of his own long bangs which Aya had rearranged and pulling them back into his face.

"Yeah," Schuldig admitted, "I guess I am."

~tbc?~

Notes: I really have no idea where this is going…well, they do have beds…Yohji would probably have to visit, or maybe they'd break out together…some kind of chaos, anyhow. If there's a strong response, I'll try another chapter, but it's okay as a oneshot too.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

* * *

The late afternoon was slowly consumed by the past, fading to a white blur of words and injections and locked doors. After their one, bizarre conversation, Aya had been silent; he laid on his bed, curled towards the wall, and made no reply to any of Schuldig's queries. The latter soon tired of the senseless game and flopped back onto his own bed to stare at the ceiling as the darkness fell around them, the slanting light slipping from the screened window as the asylum fell into its own surreal version of night.

He dozed, lightly and briefly, but snapped awake as someone screamed. The move had been instinctual, and he was almost surprised to find himself crouching on the floor, heart racing, hand reaching for a boot knife that was no longer there. Forcing himself to relax, Schuldig turned to find Aya sitting stiffly in his bed, covers thrown back and hand pressed into the hard mattress as if he might pounce forth.

/Did you scream?/

Aya's wide eyes jerked to him, glaring even in the dim moonlight.

"Don't do that," he hissed.

"What?"

Aya pointed to his head, but it still took Schuldig a minute to realize what he had done precisely.

"Sorry," he shrugged, laughing a little as he climbed back into his bed and drew up the stiff sheets. He thought for a second, then shucked his white sweatshirt onto the floor before settling to lean on one elbow and examine Aya. He was about to repeat his question when the scream came again, high pitched and terrified. It was close, but not in their room.

Then it came again. Schuldig watched Aya turn and scoot into the corner of his bed, pressing his back to the wall and his right side to the headboard. He was facing Schuldig's bed, but his eyes were elsewhere as he drew his knees towards his chest and held them there with trembling hands.

The screams continued, loud and female, harsh.

"God. It sounds like someone's killing her!"

"It's me," Aya whispered, eyes wide but unseeing. Clutching his head with both hands, he pulled hard at his hair as his voice became a low whine, "It's me. It's me. Every night I kill her. I can't make it stop. I don't want the screams. I—"

"Stop it!" Schuldig demanded; he couldn't take the insistent emotional pain from the shrieking woman and the dark guilt radiating off of Aya, not simultaneously. His shields were strong, but not strong enough to block out dual assaults of insanity in the middle of the fucking night.

"I can't. I can't stop it. It's on me; she's dead, and it's on me and I can't see it because it's not red here. He'll come and take it off. Not here. He can't get here. I didn't mean to!" Pale fingers were pulling so hard at his hair that Schuldig was sure it would come out at the roots. Quickly he came to Aya's bed, kneeling beside him and trying to coax the trembling hands from the scarlet locks. They relaxed a little.

And the woman screamed again.

"Shit," Schuldig swore. Summoning strength he wasn't sure he had at the moment, he sent a vague message of sleep to the screaming banshee that was their neighbor; then he started again with Aya. He reached for the pale hands, gently rubbing the backs and fingers, trying to get them loose. "Let go, come on."

He really was like a kitten, a terrified, beaten one, perhaps, scared to trust and slow to come out of his own little world, not matter how terrible.

But the hands let go, and Schuldig took them between his own.

"How often does that happen?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Every night."

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

This wasn't the happy, babbling Aya of the afternoon; he was tired and trembling. No wonder, though, with screams breaking up the night. And to an assassin! It would drive anyone crazy, memories being thrust at them like that. How stupid! Schuldig wondered how crazy Abyssinian really was, and how much was due to the swift alteration of emptiness and intensity of this place. Not to mention the sleep deprivation.

"Aya?"

Violet eyes regarded him warily. It wasn't really the time for an in-depth discussion of symptoms.

"Try to sleep."

Laying the younger man down, Schuldig drug the white covers up over his shoulders and returned to his own bed. The sheets were tangled, and it took a few seconds to sort himself out. By the time he laid down on his side to look at Aya, the assassin was fast asleep.

~tbc~

Review?


	3. Chapter 3

Notes: Picked this one up for another chapter. I hope someone's still interested!

* * *

Chapter Three

* * *

He had been awake for half an hour, forced into consciousness by the rising level of hectic thoughts around him. He had to rouse himself to ignore it, defeating the purpose entirely and leaving him awake in the quiet of the room.

Abyssinian was still. It was tempting to rifle through his thoughts, but Schuldig resisted, unsure of what he might find. Aya had always been hard to read, taking more effort than usual just to get his most immediate plans. Jump right, dodge, skewer Mastermind. Those days seemed distant; it had been, what, a year? They weren't enemies anymore; they weren't anything. Well, except roommates.

Involved in imagining what the rest of the kitties would think when they came to visit, Schuldig almost missed the steps outside their door. There was no missing the sound, though, when the heavy bolt slid back. Sitting up, he brushed his tangled hair out of his face and watched two men enter. They were, apparently, using the buddy system to prevent injury by either of the room's occupants. That made him smile. He debated biting one for the hell of it.

They locked the door behind them and turned on the light; what had been a dim room with bar-broken sunlight falling through the window became a harshly lit cell under the wash of bright fluorescents.

They entered with caution, looking carefully around. There was some general relief that Schuldig had survived the night without injury. Curious.

One of the men in white medical gear was young, no more than twenty-five, and actually scared of what Aya might do despite having an inch and at least twenty pounds on the redhead. The thoughts of the other man, a slightly older brunette, were more secure, but he was all too ready to restrain Aya should the situation call for it. He could, and had, Schuldig noted; this one had been a sailor, and his muscular frame and large arms contrasted with his rather gentle, if square and masculine, face. There was some peculiar feelings involving the redhead, but Schuldig didn't have time to sort through them.

Both of the men were carrying trays. One was deposited on Schuldig's nightstand by the bigger man, who offered him a smile.

"Sorry, but you'll have to eat in here until you get through evaluation. I'm Sai; you'll see me here most days." He took a step back, resting his hands on his hips as he turned to his coworker. "Put it down, already."

The younger man nodded, his blonde hair falling further into his face. He hesitated to approach Aya who, since the door had opened, was kneeling on his bed, hands pressed flat on the mattress like a cat ready to pounce. The tight leather pants stretched around his lean thighs, and the disarray of his hair only added to the feral image that had the orderly ready to wet his pants.

"Toma!" Sai finally snapped.

Quickly, the blonde moved in, almost dropping the plastic tray in his effort to be quick about setting it down. Aya glared, but not at him. He addressed himself to Sai; apparently, they had a history.

"No."

"Yes, Aya," his deep voice was patient but not patronizing. "You eat here until Dr. Setsuya decides you're not a danger to the staff."

"He started it," Aya replied.

Sai shrugged. A quick peek at his thoughts revealed passive disbelief but no animosity. Schuldig got out of his head just in time to respond to the next statement addressed to him.

"I'm afraid you won't find any silverware," he hesitated, and Schuldig sensed apprehension; it turned out to be that the man wasn't sure he could properly pronounce the German's name. He decided to skip it. "You'll have some when you eat in the cafeteria, but for the moment, Aya here isn't allowed, and it would be too much of a temptation."

Aya sniffed at that, effectively retrieving Sai's attention.

Well, that explained the spoon comment. Schuldig grinned as he drew the memory from Toma's mind: Aya had a dark-haired orderly by the collar, and held at his throat was a plastic spoon, the handle broken into a sharp point that bit into the orderly's bleeding neck.

"I want to eat out there," Aya demanded.

"Can't."

"Then I'm not eating," was the petulant reply.

Toma looked distressed at this, but Sai just shook his head.

"Your choice. We did that last week though."

"Fuck you," Aya replied.

Sai just shrugged, walking to the door. Schuldig noted that despite his air of ease, one eye was kept constantly on the redhead, and his back wasn't turned until after Toma had opened the door. They left without further comment, and the bolt slid loudly into place.

Aya was still glaring at the place they had been, and Schuldig didn't need to use his power to know that the man was debating on exactly how to kill the orderlies.

Deciding that it wasn't the best time to strike up conversation, he turned his attention to the covered platic tray and lifted off the lid. It wasn't too bad, not fine dining by any means, but a step or two above the institutional-grade shit they'd been giving him the last few days. Although, he wasn't quite sure how to go about eating the thin, rolled eggs without a fork.

There was a noise of movement, and he looked up to see Aya lay back on the bed, staring at him.

Finding himself suddenly self-conscious under the scrutiny, Schuldig looked down to open the carton of juice. He'd rather have coffee, but, if his guess was correct, Aya was probably not allowed around anything hot at the moment.

"Is it poisoned?" he asked with a grin, lifting one of the eggs between his fingers.

Aya shook his head no.

With a shrug, Schuldig did his best to the slippery thing in his mouth, finding himself in need of the napkin afterwards.

"Damn. Couldn't you have used a hanger or something? I fell like a caveman."

That got a smile, Aya apparently back in a better mood as he shifted around to sit on the bed.

Thinking the bowl of rice was a hopeless cause, he took the toast and left the rest. Aya's food remained untouched.

"You're seriously not gonna eat?"

"No."

That said, he got off the bed and, after a detour to turn off the overhead lights, stalked to the closet. Pulling off his shirt, he held it in his left hand and used the other to slide open the door.

Well, the not eating explained why the man looked thinner than last time they had met. It was surprising, Schuldig thought, that he retained so much muscle tone, his arms small but obviously strong, his waist thin but with the gently defined abs of an athlete. Abyssinian was a fascinating creature.

Chewing the dry toast, he watched Aya shuffle a surprisingly diverse collection of clothes (all on plastic hangers that couldn't be removed from the rod) and take out a black t-shirt. He pulled it over his head, leaving his hair even more disordered than before; it stuck up in the back, and the eartails were frizzed. It was odd, Abyssinian always being put together, sleek and showy even as he tried to gut you.

Now he was pulling out some pants, black. A pair of underwear were produced from a wicker basket in the bottom of the closet. Both items rested over his arm as he undid the button and zip of the leather pants.

Then Schuldig found himself under scrutiny.

"Don't watch," Aya ordered.

Schuldig rolled his eyes at the modesty but turned around to face the wall, finishing the last of his breakfast as he listened to the other dress behind him. When he got bored of staring at the white wall a bare minute later, he snuck a peek just in time to see the snug black pants being pulled over trim hips, noting absently that Aya's underwear were of the black silk variety.

"All black today?" he questioned.

Aya's head whipped around, hands still gripping the two sides of the button fly.

"I said not to watch!"

"Sorry, too tempting."

Aya glared at him, simultaneously buttoning his pants. When this was done, he walked over and punched Schuldig hard just below the shoulder. Quick to react, the German shoved him back, undeterred when Aya didn't fall. He stood; Aya smiled.

Schuldig stopped, dropped his hands, and grinned.

"No?" Aya asked.

"Not today," he answered, flopping back on the bed. "Would be fun, though."

Aya shrugged. Then, with perfect calm, "Don't watch me when I change or I'll tell them you're trying to sleep with me."

"Who says I'm not?"

A raised eyebrow, but he remained generally indifferent as he tried to smooth down his hair, "If Mitzu hears that, you'll go to three."

"Three?"

"Sex offenders. Criminally insane."

"Sounds fun."

"Constant supervision."

Oh, well that was unpleasant. About to ask what would keep him from reversing the threat, he heard the bolt slide again. The same two men stepped in, this time carrying a pair of pair of plastic handcuff ties.

"Schuldig, Dr. Setsuya wants to see you at nine," Sai stated, not unfriendly. He had practiced the name. "Do you want to go to the facilities before we go up?"

He shrugged, having wondered how such necessities were handled. As he allowed Sai to place the thin bands around his wrists, he decided he wouldn't be staying long. Not when they didn't get their own private bathroom. Maybe Bradley could fix it.

* * *

After using the restroom with an indifferent Sai looking on, Schuldig had been glad to brush his teeth, even if the toothbrush was a cheap, soft thing. They didn't offer him a hairbrush, so he made due with raking through his tangled mane with his fingers and tossing it back over his shoulder. He wasn't exactly a stunning picture in the white sweatsuit, but maybe he had enough natural charm to carry it off.

He was led up three flights of stairs and shown into a small, sparsely decorated office. A middle-aged Japanese woman sat behind a large, wooden desk; her dark hair was tied back efficiently at her neck, and a pair of reading glasses rested on her head. She wasn't what he would call attractive, but she might have passed for okay ten years ago, maybe, before the crows feet began to sneak around her eyes and her lips began to thin. Shuffling a few folders, she gestured to the leather chair in front of her desk.

The cuffs were removed from his wrists, but an orderly he didn't know was left in the room.

"I hope you are finding our facility adequate?" she asked without looking at him.

"Yeah," he returned, already trying to slip inside her thoughts. Immediately he was assaulted by list after list of things she had to do, as if the woman was perpetually keeping herself on task by reiterating the minutia of her position. He saw flickering images of himself, subsumed almost instantly by folders and forms.

"Very good." Putting down her pen, she looked up at him. "I'm Dr. Setsuya, the administrator here. I have ultimate say in most decisions, including discharge."

Yeah, yeah, you control my fate, he thought, but smiled and nodded.

"There are five psychiatrists here. You will be under the care of Dr. Mitzu and will have two private sessions a week with her. Additionally, while on level four of our privilege system, you will be required to attend four small group sessions a week and one large group session. Small groups meet with various doctors, and I handle the large group meeting on Thursdays. As you progress, you will be given more control over your time.

"You are currently located on floor six, correct?"

"Yes."

"You will have an evaluation later today, and if everything goes well, you will be moved to four or five."

"Moved?" he questioned.

She nodded, "As I'm sure you've noticed, floor six is a rather restrictive level reserved for new patients and those who are…resistant to treatment."

Her thoughts said more, providing images of locked doors and long sighs, of sessions that went nowhere, and of one dark haired woman in a straight jacket who threw herself repeatedly against a padded wall.

"Resistant?" he asked, just to bide time as he prodded her thoughts for information on Abyssinian.

"Though we do our best to provide care and treatment for all our patients, there are those that simply…."

He lost track of her words as he sifted through images connected with what she was saying. The dark haired woman was back, chewing on a strand of her long hair as she sat in a corner. An emaciated girl with chopped, blonde hair cutting her arm with the tab from a soda can. A short, wrinkled man who talked only to the television screen in a language no one else knew. Nothing about Aya.

"And my roommate?" he questioned.

She looked back to the desk, shuffled a few papers, then started a little before clearing her throat.

"Don't worry, there's no need for you to continue to room with him."

Schuldig moved quickly, pressing harder than he should have to catch the thoughts that came up while her focus was on the redhead. Most prominent was the memory of his hard glare. Then, a brief flash, Aya sitting in the corner of his room, thin, bandaged arms drawn to his chest, threatening to kill whoever got close to him. The spoon incident was there, but it was vague and fuzzy, something that had probably been reported to her.

" I don't mind," he smiled, trying to be charming and simultaneously tweaking her mind so that the idea of having the two of them together was extremely attractive.

"He's unstable," she all but whispered, suddenly unsure.

"Yes, but so am I."

~tbc~

Scribble a review on the padded walls before you go?


	4. Chapter 4

Notes: Thank you all so much for the reviews! I'm glad Yohji/Aya people are giving this a chance. And Cid, *points to seventy-odd chapter fic she's been writing* my pet project keeps me busy...along with that job thing.

* * *

Chapter Four

* * *

After the bureaucratic mind of Setsuya, playing with Mitzu was a relief.

She was a young woman, less than four years out of school and still hoping to change the world. Schuldig could have laughed at her determination to help her patients, a feeling that was already suffering under the reality of being assigned the difficult patients. Even she knew it was happening, but with no tenure to speak of, she couldn't do anything to avoid being given the hopeless cases.

Of course, she said none of this as she smiled kindly at him. Sitting primly in a large, gray leather chair, the petite woman looked almost too put together. Her navy pantsuit was crisp, her heeled shoes without scruffs, and her dark hair braided down her back. For all her efforts at professionalism, a touch of her mind revealed her to be gullible, which was perfect.

As easy as it was to twist their minds, Schuldig had quickly decided he needed to play the part in order to be assured a room with Abyssinian without too many questions. There was no sense being separated from the man when all he had to do was call some question to his own sanity.

He had to be careful, though. From everything he had picked up, Aya was segregated to a portion of the asylum where patients were labeled incurable. They were not watched and largely left to their own devices once their most basic needs were met. It wasn't a happy situation, and the fact that Abyssinian was there threatened to make him angry; he didn't have time for that. Action now, revenge later. Lots of revenge.

"How are you?" Mitzu questioned, pen at the ready to take notes on his every reply.

Relaxing against the gray couch, he grinned, "Just peachy."

"You understand this is an evaluation of your mental state, correct? Good. I'm going to ask you some questions, and I want you to answer honestly."

"Sure."

"Do you consider yourself to be mentally stable?"

"Yes."

"Do you think you belong here?"

"No."

"Were you admitted by someone else?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He, my friend, thought I was…dangerous."

"To whom?"

"Oh, myself mostly."

"Why?"

"He doesn't understand."

"Understand what?" She was scribbling quickly now.

"That I'm not crazy. That I can really do it."

"Do what?"

"Read minds."

* * *

"Do it again."

Schuldig sighed, acting considerably more put upon than he really felt. He concentrated for a moment; Aya watched the door intently.

Less than a minute later, the lock clicked and the second shift orderly walked into the room. Once there, he looked around anxiously, obviously not sure why he had come. Aya stood up suddenly from his bed, looking rather menacing.

"Uh," the young man took a step back, then he ran.

The bolt clicked. Aya sat back down, smiling a little. Schuldig grinned in return, glad he had found something that amused the redhead, even if it was torturing the workers. Hell, he thought it was pretty funny too.

"Do you like it?" the younger man asked suddenly. He was staring again, and though it unnerved Schuldig it was interesting to have Abyssinian's undivided attention.

"What?"

"That." Aya pointed to his own head.

/This?/

Aya nodded.

"Yeah, mostly."

"I wouldn't like it."

"Why?"

"I just wouldn't."

* * *

"Small group," Sai explained as he opened the door, the timid Toma following behind him. "Mitzu cleared you to go without cuffs."

Schuldig nodded, glancing toward Aya who had not risen from his bed. Instead, he sat in the middle of it, picking a thread out of the white comforter.

"He's not coming?" he asked. It seemed a shame that Aya would miss his first performance, especially when the assassin got such pleasure out of watching him work.

"Not today," Sai said simply.

* * *

"No! No!" The man screamed, half-standing on his chair and apparently trying to scrambled backwards over it. He looked thin and kind of pitiful in his white sweatsuit and robe, cowering as he was. "Get out, you bastard! Get out of my head!"

/Hm…no. Tell me something…/

Schuldig smiled.

/Have you ever eaten an entire cherry pie? Delicious./

The man screamed. Already standing, Mitzu turned to stare at Schuldig.

"Please stop. Can't you see he believes you?" she questioned, relatively calm face belayed by her racing thoughts.

"He should," Schuldig replied, relaxing back as much as the folding chair would allow.

/Better run before I kill you/, he sent to the terrified patient.

The scrawny man took off, knocking his chair over in his haste to leave the room. The others stared as he was apprehended by the orderlies at the door and dragged away screaming at the top of his lungs.

Mitzu sighed heavily and looked around at the group, then at him.

"Schuldig-san, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave the group."

That was quick. He'd only scared three of them.

* * *

"Hey," he lifted a hand to Aya. The redhead didn't look up until the door had been locked behind him.

"Kill her?"

"Who? The doctor? No."

Aya shrugged, like it made absolutely no difference to him.

"Played with a few of them."

"Shide?"

"Which one's that?"

"Tall, dark hair," he motioned to his shoulder to show the length.

"The young guy? Nah, I like the pretty ones."

Aya snorted, "He's an ass."

"Oh? Is someone jealous?" Schuldig questioned with a smirk.

"I look better."

That had not been the response he expected, but then again, it was dangerous to expect anything with Aya.

"True," he answered honestly. The Shide guy might be young and handsome, but there was no contest. He didn't have Abyssinian's coloring or that delightfully fucked up attitude.

* * *

It took three days and three group sessions for Schuldig to get himself excused from the communal healing process. By the second it had become tedious, too easy to toy with the scattered minds of the men and women kept there. Most were genuinely messed up, and the few that weren't were well on their way.

In total, he scared eight people from the room, initiated three fights, caused a girl to run into the wall repeatedly, and made one man sing in German. Mitzu called him an instigator, and he insisted that he was a telepath. Apparently he was delusional.

Things were quickly coming under his control.

He told Aya all of this as they lay quietly after the lights were out. When the woman started to scream, he put a stop to it, promising the redhead that he would get her moved tomorrow.

"Why?" Aya asked.

"Why what?"

He watched red brows furrow as Aya stared at him. The man was laying on top of his blankets, still in his day's clothes.

"Why are you here?"

"Hell if I know."

A long moment of silence before Aya asked, "Are you going to kill me?"

"Hadn't planned on it," he answered honestly.

"Why are you being nice?"

"I like you."

"Don't like me."

~tbc~

Notes: So, since I keep continuing this, I think it might be nice to have a plot of some sort. Are you all more interested in seeing Schu/Aya with Yohji being the bad guy (never done that before…I kind of like Yohji if you haven't noticed) or a more Yohji/Aya with Schu as a kind of friend or antagonist or even the enemy? I'm currently taking ideas if you've got any…I obviously have none…


End file.
